Until I Wake
by mary worth
Summary: The nightmare of Sleepy Hollow finally receding, a peaceful new beginning in the big city welcomed them. But when those very dreams return, amidst a flourishing love, will the horrors drive them back?
1. Prologue

Author's Note:  I began this story all the way back in the year 2000, and had even posted it on Fanfiction.net, albeit under another surname.  Despite the wonderful reviews I received, all of which much appreciated, I was forced to remove it from the site for it's own safety due to plagiarism on another's behalf.  However, after much demand, I have decided to revise it a bit and repost it onto Fanfiction.net.  As you did two years ago, I hope you enjoy my story once again.  Since the chapters are prewritten, I will be able to update in shorter periods of time, allowing for me to finish my revisions.  Comments and criticism are welcomed and encouraged, and the more reviews I receive, the more motivated I am!  Thanks again, and please enjoy.

Dedication 

I dedicate this story to wondrous people:

Washington Irving, for his vivid imagination and for having such a way with words; for creating this classic tale long ago for us to cherish today.

Tim Burton and the scriptwriters of Burton's rendition of Washington Irving's tale of _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_.  Without you, I would never have taken suck a liking to the well-known exemplar.  I, and so many others, thank you for turning the story into one of 1999's best blockbusters.

Disclaimer 

Tim Burton is the wonderful director and owner of the rendition of Washington Irving's classic tale, _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_.  I do not own _Sleepy Hollow, _© 1999 by Tim Burton.  I do, however, own the following story, © 2000.

Until I Wake

Recurrence

Prologue

~ * ~

**Hail, fair sun, Spirit of the Day.**

**Rise of the morn to light my way.**

~ *~

**_~ December 1799 ~_****__**

          Pressing a light, soothing kiss to her partner's cheek, the young damsel sat back in her seat, her heart fluttering as the equally young man's eyes drifted open.  She confessed to herself that the joy of seeing this man beside her awaken without so much of a sweaty brow or a shout of fear was a dream her heart had wished for.  He woke peacefully, for once not tortured by horrific and heart-wrenching nightmares.  His dark eyes meeting hers, he smiled, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

          "Ah, just in time for a new century."

          The coach horses halted their pace, stamping their hooves in the dusty snow.  They shook their heads to rid their manes of the feathery cold touches of precipitation, but came to no avail as the flakes blanketed their backs and reigns once more.

          The thin door of the carriage opening widely, a tall, lanky man, dark hair donning his head, stepped onto the street, smiling at the familiar surroundings of New York.  Turning back, he held his hand out to the gate, another clasping his own.  The woman, her own hair light as the sun, returned a grin to her entourage, her boots finding their way to the ground as she let the door fall shut behind her.  A shout came from the driver, followed by a crack of his whip, urging the steeds forward.  As the mobile moved away, a juvenile boy near fourteen years emerged, bags clutched under his arms and around his neck, gazed in wonder at the city.

          "You will soon get your bearings, young Masbath," the man announced, allowing his female accompaniment to link her arm with his.  The Bronx is up, the battery's down, and home is this way.

~ * ~


	2. Part 1 Chapter 1

Until I Wake

**Recurrence**

- 1-1 -

~ * ~

_Hail, fair sun, Spirit of the Day._

_Rise of the morn to light my way._

~ *~

  
The maiden, bided by the name of Van Tassle, felt at peace with her two newfound friends.  Glancing at the stern, yet tranquil profile of the man she clung to, Katrina couldn't help the smile that rose to her lips.  This new setting they had entered – this wondrous New York – seemingly made him… calmer.  Then again, this city did lack headless demons on the rampage.

"It is very kind of you to offer is your home," the lady stated, her eyes still set on the man beside her.  Ichabod smiled, returning her look momentarily.  As she waited for his answer, Katrina studied his expression, realizing just how little he showed the gift that was his smile.  Yes, he had smiled before, but it was either out of explanation or of embarrassment.  But now, he smiled for her.

"As I had wanted," Ichabod returned, glancing back to check on the young follower behind him.  "I do have more reason than the basis of your loss; your loved ones."

Katrina's smile faltered at the reminder, but then replaced itself at his statement.  "You always have reason.  Never a whim."

"Sir," Masbath interrupted, astonishment welling in his voice.  The boy hurried his pace to join stride with the taller man, his eyes locked ahead of him.  Ichabod sent him a questioning look, following his gaze.  Before them rested two buildings, one beautiful, the other heeding dread unto the Constable.

"Such tall buildings they are.  Whom do they house?"  Ichabod chuckled at the younger's statement and patted him on the shoulder despite the bag strap that hung from it.

"The white one in the distance is the church.  Did you not realize it from the cross at its peak?"

Masbath smiled sheepishly, ducking his head slightly.  "And the other?"

"That," Ichabod continued, his cheer slipping from his mind, "is the Municipal Building.  We will be visiting it in the morning."

"I see," Katrina countered, her brow furrowing.  "That is the residence that claims to have such better judgment than both you an I, as well as the entirety of Sleepy Hollow.  They have my pity, to be such fools as to not deem a legend on hand."

"No need for controversy, Katrina," the Constable replied, his own voice corrupted with disdain.  "I have proof and witnesses, do I not?"

The groups' chattering quickly died, their spirits lifting once more with their destination greeting them.  The crowd of dwellers dissipated, for the three had left the main area of the busy uptown.  Katrina and Masbath's view settled on a house, tucked between two others, quaint in every way.  Though smaller than Van Tassle Manor, Katrina was struck from words.  A home that held such pleasures and love as this was twice as wonderful as the larger, despite the loss of blood-linked family.  Once again glancing at the two men beside her, the woman reminded herself that for the family she had lost, she gained two significant individuals more.

~ * ~

The house, though not as elaborate as some may be, was a peculiar, yet fascinating sight to young Masbath.  Such luxuries were foreign to him, and now, to be living amongst them, he was grateful.  No, not grateful for his father's death, or his choice of leaving the very place he was birthed, but grateful for a home that was actually meant for a human being.  Enormously unlike his past residence.

The boy was shown to a room by which he could graciously call his own; small, but large enough to be comfortable.  Master Crane had been kind enough to take him, a penniless orphan, in, of course, and even gave him a view of the entire town through the window at his bedside.  He smiled, noticing that his room was both nicer and larger than that of the one the Constable had stayed in at the manor in Sleepy Hollow.  It was blanketed with light as well, more so than he had thought possible.

What young Masbath saw as even more of a fine luxury was the furniture that flourished the room.  It consisted of a bed, dresser, desk, and a bookcase with few books filling its shelf.  It had obviously served as the guest room of the house, but it held no matter to him.  He was just a guest, but to a larger extent, he was finally home.

~ * ~

It was now Katrina's turn to admire the quarters she was given.  They were much like her own at Van Tassle Manor, albeit a bit dusty from lack of use.  It was larger than Masbath's, she had seen, and by the furnishing: a large desk, bookcase stocked with novels, chest as well as a dresser, lavish fireplace and bay window; she could tell that it had been Constable Crane's own master bedroom.  He had offered it to her without accepting any decline on her part, and had left her to unpack.

Silently thanking Masbath for carrying her luggage in earlier – which had all been hers save the single bag that was left of Ichabod's luggage – Katrina began her chore.  The dresser, emptied by her would-be suitor, was of pure oak, several dark knots shrouding its surface.  Opening the cupboards, she unfolded her dresses from their places in her bags and quickly hung them on the single rod inside, blushing to herself as the closet space narrowed.  Finished there, she packed her corsets, shoes, cloak, bonnets, and shawls in the drawers beneath it, then hid the bags behind the structure.  Taking a final glance about to get her bearings, Katrina exited her new apartment, a bit paranoid by her nervousness.

Crossing the hall, the woman of mind rapped on the already opened door across from hers, peering inside at the figure seated at a desk similar to the one lining the wall of her room.  Ichabod looked up and greeted her with a forced smile, his eyes abruptly drifting back to the staunch parchment in his hand.

"You have a letter?" Katrina asked, stepping to his side to look as well unto the paper.  Ichabod gave a sigh in return, letting the letter in question fall onto the wooden surface of the desk.

"Not one I had been looking forward to."

~ * ~


	3. Part 1 Chapter 2

Until I Wake

**Recurrence**

- 1-2 -

~ * ~

**_Hail, fair sun, Spirit of the Day._**

**_Rise of the morn to light my way._**

~ *~

            Night had settled lazily upon the area, the crowds of passersby having dispersed, anxious to be before their own fires.  The Crane residence, now household to Van Tassle and Masbath as well, followed suit with the other homes and shut its lights out, the caretakers bidding good dreams to each other as they left for their respectful rooms.

            Giving Ichabod a rather forced smile, Katrina parted ways, being sure that the youngest tenant made it safely to his room far from her own and the Constable's.  Seeing his door quietly shut, she glanced back to Ichabod's just in time to see his inky black hair disappear beyond the wooden port.  Sighing reluctantly, she stepped into her chamber, leaving the door an inch open behind her.

            Dismissing the fire that glittered in its place, Katrina hastily undressed and slipped into her nightclothes, compelling herself not to think about the very man poignant in her mind.  Letting her thoughts overtake her, she crept to the door once more, peeking out of its slightly ajar state.  Cursing herself for her curiosity, she found that his door was cracked open as well, but he was not as impetuous as she.  Upon further inspection, Ichabod sat at his desk, his brow furrowed as he reread the letter from before.  Having removed his traditional black vest and leaving the first few clasps to his white undershirt open, Katrina's stomach fluttered, corrupted by butterflies.

            Forcing herself away from her perch, the young lady settled on her bed, eagerly tucking her chilled feet beneath the warm spread.  Sinking into the pillow's softness that lay at her back, she sighed, idly watching the orange flames in the fireplace lap at itself, the fascinating colors sifting from blood red to orange to a sunny yellow.  Yet, it was all but sunny; her words and memories haunted her.  _Blood red of the fire._

            *The windmill's fate is none too much of a haunt,* she considered to herself.  *But these bloodied flames are all too much to bare.*

            Twisting in her bed to face away from the small blaze, Katrina silently spat at the fact that she needed its warmth, for her cheeks seemingly iced over the moment she turned away.  Of course, the fire would eventually die out, but only after sleep would claim her, when she wouldn't care.

            *He seems a bit nervous,* she chided, letting her thoughts relinquish to another subject.  She admitted to her disappointment of the sleeping arrangements.  *I _am_ wicked,* she accused herself, berating her person for comparing her own ideas to the actions of her late stepmother.  Thought it worried her, she knew that it was what she wanted.  She was a grown woman, and had been since the departure of both her mothers.  From the day she followed him into the Western Woods, she had known destiny would bring them together.  Hell, she knew from the moment she removed her blindfold, ridding herself of the visage of the Pickety Witch.  She also knew that dear Ichabod felt deeply for her in return, but to what extent?

            *And here I lay, my mind full of wrongful deeds that mustn't be attempted on my behalf.*  But would Ichabod take the reigns of her desires?  He had swiftly replaced the burly Brom, but had not her former suitor's words as well has his place, for no proposals had worked their way from his lips.  She pined for those few words, but feared they would never bestow themselves upon her.  He brought her into his home, yes, but was it for her mere role of evidence?  True, once more, he had feelings for her, but she in return did not know much about the older lad that took her from her birthplace to her recent settlement amid the busying streets of the city.

            Letting her heavy eyelids drift shut, the young maiden readily welcomed the sweet serenity of sleep, which in turn brought forth whispers of dreams of the future.

~ * ~

            Whilst the beauty across the way began her journey to dreamland, the soul residing in the second guest room was sullen from his thoughts, the letter stationary in his mind.  Apparently, the Burgomaster had seen, or rather, heard, of his arrival in New York, head still intact, for his signature was scrawled at the foot of the parchment sheet followed by the date: December 1st, 1799.  Their coach sent from 'The Hollow' had set track in the city that very day, having left three days prior, and the letter, with the date of today, had greeted him n the wooden trap aside his front door that acted as his mailbox.  Having heard of his departure by rumor of a messenger, Ichabod deduced that the man had dictated the Head Constable and, knowing the return trip would take a mere three days, readied the note for him to find, even before the horses that had drawn their carriage even set hoof on the city's ground.

            Tossing the note's waxen seal into the dimming fire, the Constable followed suit with the letter, heeding it as a burden.  Watching vehemently as the paper's edges curled and blackened from the flames' touches, Ichabod let loose a long, held back sigh.  Slipping his white undershirt over his head and gladly finding a clean nightshirt in his only piece of luggage, the somber man pulled the garment upon his shoulders and fell to his bed, savoring what little comfort it provided.

            But no sooner had he found his rest was he brought to his feet, the weak light peeping through his jarred door arousing his interest.  Silently, Ichabod made his way across the hall, gently pushing the opposite door open.  Though different, the scene was uncanny, the fire-lit room and hazy atmosphere immediately reminding him of his second meeting with the youngest Van Tassle, who now slept soundly atop his once-own bed.  The dying flames in the hearth, which in turn grasped the weary man's attention, highlighted her cheeks, showing their own flushed color despite the chill.  Taking the poker from its stand beside the built-in stone structure, Ichabod stirred the kindling, rousing the fire and pleading for its warmth, for her sake.  He refused to allow a cold to take away the cheerfulness that his angel constantly illustrated, that which he valued.  It was all he wanted.

            Tearing away from the humbling scene of the sleeping splendor, Ichabod quietly left, closing the door noiselessly behind him once sure that she'd keep warm.  The next room he had his sights rested on stood down the hall, a faint glow that emanated from a fire within flooding from beneath the crack of the door.  After giving it a slight knock, Ichabod entered, offering a polite smile to the boy residing within.

            "Sir?" Masbath questioned from his place at his desk.  A torn sheet of paper sat before him and small piece of charcoal dirtied his fingers.  Ichabod nodded, offering yet another grin.

            "You are comfortable, I hope, young Masbath?" he stated, his voice a murmur so as not to wake Katrina down the hall.  An expression of thankfulness crossed Masbath's face as he nodded vigorously, glancing around the room.  He hadn't the heart to admit he had expected so much less.

"To have such chambers I can call my own is beyond a simple comfort, sir," he replied, his childish simper widening as if it would never dispel.  The elder man nodded, eyeing the charcoal.

"Tomorrow I shall find you ink and a quill, so you can do what you wish with it," Ichabod announced, wandering over to the halfheartedly filled shelf.  "But for now, I recommend a book for you to abide your time with, if you cannot sleep."  Surveying the few, dusty books, the man's eyes caught sight of one that held to his attention.  "This one I sanction."

Turning to face an anticipating Masbath, Ichabod handed the boy his choice book, proud of the way his eyes shone.  The coarsely embroidered title read _Anatomy._  

"It is not a fictional tale, but an educational reference.  You may be interested," Ichabod added, watching as the youth indulged in the reference.  "Seeing how you hadn't much schooling.  I suspect your father taught you to read and write?"

"I thank you repeatedly, sir," Masbath murmured, flipping through the pages absently.  "I pray the words aren't too difficult for me."

Ichabod chuckled, clapping a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder.  "You are a bright lad," he assured him.  Regaining posture, he nodded to the tiring boy.  "Goodnight, Jonathan.  Do get some rest."

~ * ~


	4. Part 1 Chapter 3

Until I Wake

**Recurrence**

- 1-3 -

~ * ~

**_Hail, fair sun, Spirit of the Day._**

**_Rise of the morn to light my way._**

~ *~

When morning finally came, the dreaming Katrina awoke to the fresh warmth that bathed her face, he eyelids no longer providing the darkness in which she had once feared.  She stretched her limbs awkwardly; ridding her body of the ache her sleeping positions had wrought upon her.  It was obvious that her sleep had been cluttered with dreams of a tall, dark man whom she had grown so fond of.

Placing her childishly bare feet on the wooden floor beneath her, Katrina flung open her cupboard, snatching the nearest gown off of its hanger.  She dressed in haste, eager to get to the kitchen and begin her first day's work.  She chuckled at the thought of being so motherly, and that she herself was finally put to use that didn't involve sewing… at least not at the moment.

Skipping through the door like an innocent, the lady Van Tassle placed her hands on her hips, thoughts brewing in her womanly feeble mind.

"What a place to practice my spells," she giggled at her ideas, eyeing the stove and fire pit.  "But for now, breakfast will have to do."

~ * ~

Clasping the last button to his short-coat, Young Masbath glanced into the small mirror beside his dresser, straightening his hair mildly.  Today, Master Crane would be taking Katrina and he out to town, as he himself had so persistently requested.  And to be out in such public, the boy wanted very much to look nice, so as to fit in with the adults he was accompanying.  

Approving of his reflection, Masbath hurriedly tidied his bed and desk, momentarily admiring the book his caretaker had given him the night before.  After Ichabod had taken his leave, Jonathon had dug indiscreetly into the text, every once in a while turning to the cover to marvel at the burgundy leather, a picture stamped well into the surface.  Now, it sat, the dust from its binding and pages residing on the floor, the edges all straightened and the wrinkly old paper he had written upon now guarding his place.

Finally leaving his reverie, Masbath made his way down the hall and towards the kitchen, immediately welcomed by the fresh smell of eggs, warm bread and tea.

Entering the heated room, he drew Katrina's attention with a slight bow, allowing her to obediently usher him to his seat.  With a kind smile and a wink, she set the boy a plate and filled him a small cup of steaming tea.

"You slept well, I jest?" she questioned, settling beside him.  Masbath nodded, graciously shoving a spoonful of egg into his mouth.

"Though I was roused half the night reading," he returned, swallowing the bite.  His face brightened at her quizzical expression, enjoying the opportunity for a story.  "Master Crane offered it to me last night, the subject of anatomy.  I barely got through the first chapter, the script is so finely printed."

"Anatomy?" Katrina sniffed, wiping her hands on her dress despite her manners.  "What is this 'anatomy'?  Has Ichabod been filling you with his sciences already?"

Masbath returned her laugh.  "Maybe so, but I was never so grateful."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway before the kitchen, breaking the two's conversation.

"Well, he's finally come to join us," Katrina stated, rising from her seat as the man of the house entered the small dining area.  His hair was tousled, but nonetheless neat, and he wore his official uniform, collar, boots and all.

"Good morning Ichabod," Katrina announced, meeting his side and giving him an unexpected peck on his cheek.  Ichabod nodded, a blush rising to his pallid cheeks by the show of emotion as he acknowledged her and the boy.

"You are ready to face the High Constable, I hope," he lamented, his face holding an expression of grief.  It was the others' turn to nod, wearing both bravery and nervousness in their eyes.

"This High Constable'…?" Katrina began, her mind reeling with concern.

"Is whom I answer to," Ichabod concluded for her, running a hand offhandedly through his thick hair.  "I doubt he will have any… _tribulations _with you two."

"And you suspect he will with you?" Katrina threw back, her hands resting on her hips.

"Why do you suppose he sent me to Sleepy Hollow in the first place?" Ichabod answered, a broken grin on his lips.  Leaving to retrieve the lady's coat, the man was all too glad to escape the awkward atmosphere that had filled the room.

Sighing, Katrina turned to Masbath.  "I suppose he won't settle for breakfast."

~ * ~

            A strange sense of respect flushed through Young Masbath's body as he walked alongside Ichabod, their destination reluctantly in mind.  By the regret in the man's tone, Jonathan could tell that he hadn't been looking forward to his return to New York.  Even more so, it told him that this Constabulary he worked at did not even give him the time of day.  He discovered conscientiously that these men he was about to face had wrought Hell upon the very man who had taken him under his wing, not to mention saved their very lives and rid a small, forgotten town of a murderous witch and her demon.

            Finally at the threshold of the Municipal Building, which Masbath had recalled from what Ichabod had told him the day before, the boy was bewildered by not only its size, but also the desolate surroundings that greeted them, save a man dressed identical to Ichabod.  He peered behind himself to the streets, also barren of people.

            "Do people fear this place so much?" he asked himself, remembering the words of Constable Crane.  He had told him about the 'injustice' the constables within showed, and how many were wrongfully arrested and tortured with lack of evidence.  He recalled the Reverend Steenwyk's complaints about disturbing the dead after Ichabod had removed the passed-on from their graves, but here, the dead weren't even given their final respects.  No matter if they were found, their chests torn to shreds or brutally beaten, they were merely burned, a proper burial not even considered.

            Masbath's eyes slowly focused to the darkened room as he and Katrina followed Ichabod inside, away from the bright peacefulness of day.  The hollow echo of their footsteps reverberated eerily along the hardwood floors, which seemed louder than even those of their new home.  Passersby also donning the constable's same uniform each exchanged surprised glances with the other at Ichabod's sight, as well as vulgar looks for Katrina.  Looking ahead, there was a door, which portrayed the shadowy gateway to Hell.

            Entering a large room, a high ceiling towering above, Young Masbath looked uneasily about, the benches the only furnishing.  It was lighter in here due to the massive windows lining the walls, but it, too, was empty and uninviting, just like the outside had been.  Before the three was a large stage, a bench and desk heading it, awaiting the High Constable.  Meeting Ichabod's unsteady gaze, Masbath took a seat at a bench, tugging on Katrina's sleeve so as she would do the same.

            "Where is this contemptuous man?" Katrina muttered, watching Ichabod nervously wait beside them.  His face was set, his gaze forcedly stern, and Katrina swore she could see more bravery in him than she had ever truly seen.  Silently, she reached up and clasped his hand out of view of the younger, grinning as the man jumped slightly beside her at the fragile contact.  Their eyes met, and her trusting ones eased the sorrow from his restless gaze.

            The slamming of a door wrenched Ichabod's hand from hers, all three of them jumping despite themselves.  A man, graying and more austere than any man both Katrina and Masbath had ever laid eyes upon, followed by the one Katrina knew to be the Burgomaster, took a seat at the tall desk, an antique gavel in hand.  Leaving their sides, Ichabod took his place before the bench, his hands clasped tenaciously behind his back.

            Eyeing him down, his brow furrowed, the High Constable looked straight through him, eager to get this case of ridiculous sorts from the back of his mind.

            "Constable Crane, you have returned…?" he boomed, leaning on his elbows on the desk before him, in spite of his manners.  Ichabod nodded, keeping his gaze locked with the older man's for assurance.  If at any moment his gaze drifted, Ichabod knew he would falter.

            "I have."

            "And what do you have to report?" the man continued, his thick eyebrows rising in amusement.  Ichabod drew a silent breath and recalled his story.

            "The murder has been put to rest," he stated solemnly, although he knew it wasn't the best way to begin.

            "You mean to say that you did nit bring him back for our better judgment?  For our _good justice?_" the Burgomaster asked, searching for defeat on Ichabod's face.  Once again, Ichabod merely nodded in return.

            "Like I said, _she_ had been put to rest."

            "_She?_" The higher man asked, his knuckles turning white with impatience.  "The one who brutally murdered those three was a _woman_?"

            "It was, but she did not kill only three.  She disposed of eleven, maybe more to my recollection, as well caused the town to flee in fear."

            Shaking his head, the High Constable's eyes hardened on Ichabod.  "And how did she go about murdering these people?  There couldn't be a logical way for this woman to kill _eleven or more_ people in that small town without being caught."

            Swallowing hard, Ichabod readied himself for mocking.  "She had not done it herself, save two: her sister and servant.  In truth, her accomplice was her resurrection of a demon to commit these evil doings _for_ her."

            Gaping in shock, the High Constable paused, unable to collect what might have seemed true.  "You, a man of such things as science and reason, truly _believe_ in this story of yours?"

            Ichabod nodded his head abruptly.  "Reason deceives us; conscience, never.  I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes."

            "And what of this demon?" the elder continued.  "_He_ was notable to face judgment?"  He fortunately did not hear the comical snort emitted from Young Masbath at the thought of a demon in court.

            Crane shook his head warily.  "He returned to Hell after reclaiming his skull, sir."

            "Reclaiming his skull…" the High Constable muttered, leaning back in his chair in disbelief, while the Burgomaster unconvincingly suppressed his laughter.  "_That_ caused him to cease his rampage?"

            "Yes," Ichabod assured him, none too angrily.  "The woman behind the murders, Lady Van Tassle, wife to Baltus Van Tassle of Sleepy Hollow, had stolen the skull from his grave.  And with it, she could govern the Hessian's actions."

            "This Hessian," the High Constable asked.  "_He_ is the murderer as well?"

            "Precisely."

            Shaking his head in disgust, the High Constable frowned upon the younger man.  "Constable Crane, do you have any _proof_ that this nonsense story is true?"

            "He does," Katrina's voice drifted from behind Ichabod, startling all three men.  She stood from her seat, dragging Masbath along with her, and joined Ichabod's side.  "_We _are his living proof."

            "And who might you be?" the elder asked politely.  Katrina curtsied, followed by a short bow from Masbath.

            "I am Katrina Van Tassle, daughter and step-daughter to Baltus and Lady Van Tassle.  And this," she gestured to Masbath, "is our ward, Jonathan Masbath."

            "You are _step-daughter_ to this murderous woman?" the High Constable repeated, his curiosity peaked.  Katrina nodded solemnly, nervousness from Ichabod flooding her senses.

            "I am, and what Constable Crane is telling you is what truly happened, your Honor.  It may seem incredibly hard to believe, but do you doubt three to none?"

            "Very well," he returned, sighing in forced defeat.  "Whatever puts this supposed nonsense behind me.  My next question is about your methods.  Did they help any in this case of yours?"

            Ichabod nodded with pride, forcing back a sarcastic grin.  "It made an extreme difference, sir."

            "For example?"

            Ichabod racked his mind.  "Biological studies of wounds before and after death, autopsies of the deceased bodies, and scientific examinations of the crime scenes."  He wouldn't admit that, in the end, science was not needed to put the Hessian back to rest.  

            The Head Constable rose to his feet, wiping his brow of sweat that hadn't been there before.  "Ghosts and goblins have corrupted your mind, Crane," he began halfheartedly.  "But if this young lady speaks the truth and agrees that you and your methods were actually a blessing to the serial killer of Sleepy Hollow…"

            "I do, sir.  I still breathe life in thanks to Constable Crane."  Katrina forced her gaze to lock with the higher constable, then to the Burgomaster beside him.  The High Constable nodded his head once, and then tapped his gavel harshly on the wooden block nailed to his desk.

            "I grant you permission, Constable Ichabod Crane, to enlighten us of these methods of yours," he announced, receiving a distressed, but hidden look from the Burgomaster.  He smiled slightly to the three.  "After you take your leave of the Constabulary."

            Ichabod jumped at the man's words.  "My leave, sir?"

            His smile widened.  "I do not believe a man of your stature needs be out amongst the rebels of justice.  You can serve your duty here, as Burgomaster."

            The former Burgomaster, head dizzied from the announcement, slumped onto the bench behind him, while Ichabod kept his composure.  Yet inside, he knew he had won against the man who had named him a heathen.  He had proven himself _and_ his methods of science and reason, though not so much the reason, to his retrospection. 

~ * ~

            Once outside, Masbath couldn't help but jump with joy and shout congratulations.  His face still stern, Ichabod offered the enraptured boy a smile, unable to belief his own luck.

            "I owe my success to you both," he stated as Katrina clung to his arm, a wide smile upon her lips.  Masbath beamed with pride, regaining his manner and falling into step beside the two.

            "Perhaps," Katrina countered, lettering her fingers wander from his arm to his hand.  "As evidence, we did quite well.  But what are we to you now?"

            Unable to answer, Ichabod kept silent, fearing the glance of the woman beside him.  Young Masbath, dismissing any false attitudes, continued with his cheery nature, raising his boots higher off the snow than any other lad.

~ * ~


End file.
